


All the Little Pieces

by ant5b



Series: Follies of Youth [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Coming Out, Family Feels, Kid Fic, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Scrooge, Uses they/them pronouns for Donald until Scrooge knows how he identifies, Written from Scrooge's POV, trans donald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: “What did you do, punch a tree?” Scrooge demanded.“Uh...” Donny said, and didn’t continue.“Honestly, of all the foolhardy—wiggle your fingers. I need to make sure nothing’s broken.”





	All the Little Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://mighty-ant.tumblr.com/)  
> 

 

It wasn’t often that Scrooge saw his nieces, what with how often he was abroad. He’d made more of an effort to be present with his family after Hortense laid her eggs, but the life of an adventurer and businessman was often an unpredictable one, and he’d missed his fair share of birthdays and Christmases. 

And now, two years and a timeless demon dimension later, he was back in Duckburg and phoning Hortense the first chance he got. 

His youngest sister was exasperated by his insistence that they come visit, but he recognized the relief coiling in between her words for what it was, and didn’t take her waspishness to heart. 

They settled on a weekend that Hortense wanted to herself and Quackmore, and would drop the twins off around teatime. 

“Take them on whatever adventure you like, Scroogey, but if I see one feather out of place on their wee heads, you’ll want to turn around and hop right back into that accursed dimension you just crawled out of,” Hortense snapped, promising bloody retribution with every word, and Scrooge was just happy to hear her voice. 

 

Scrooge kept a photograph of his nieces in his study, framed on his desk. They were around six years old in the photo, clad in traditional Highland dress (at their mother’s insistence), during a visit with Downey and Fergus. Their hatred of the long tartan skirts and earasaids was comically plain on their faces, and if memory served, little Donny and Della had immediately run into the moors after the picture was taken, muddying their clothes to the point that they could no longer be worn. 

Hortense’s bairns were as keen as she was, and, if an incredulous Quackmore was to be believed, just as fearless. 

Della, Scrooge remembered, as taking after Quackmore in her quiet, analytic nature, but was every bit the McDuck with her adventuring spirit. More often than he’d like, on their rare visits to his home, Scrooge had been forced to take measures to keep her out of his garage so she wouldn’t find his Other Bin. 

Donny, by contrast, might’ve had a little too much McDuck.

Black tempers ran in their family, dating back to its namesake, Black Donald McDuck. It was a trait passed from generation to generation, hand in hand with frugality, though at times it skipped a generation (the less said about Sir Stuft McDuck the better). 

To Scrooge’s memory, Donny always had a temper in ample supply, never taking his ribbing sitting down and harnessing it to match Della in stride. Donny had Hortense’s stubbornness and Quackmore’s focus, a deadly combination, especially when paired with Della’s boundless energy. 

Scrooge had spent many a Christmas wrangling an unruly tot from underfoot, and later uncovered El Dorado with two bickering siblings at his side. He saw their potential from the beginning. As such, he wanted their next adventure to be especially memorable. To be like nothing they’d ever seen. 

Scrooge was of the opinion that nothing brought a family together like an adventure (or the reading of a will). Having total faith and trust in one’s companions, sharing in the thrilling rush of a near-death catastrophe. The euphoria of discovery. All of this Scrooge looked forward to, and not because he was afraid of what his family would think of him, just him, after two long years apart. 

However, Scrooge’s lofty plans only lasted until the day he opened the door to greet them. 

Scrooge met Hortense’s no-nonsense gaze first, not off put by her frown for a second. He could never forget the toddler she’d been when he left home for the first time, but the memory was always especially prominent the longer he was away. 

“Ach, you haven’t aged a day, Tensy.”

“Thank you,  Scroogey,” Hortense replied primly, “Sorry that I can’t say the same for you.”

it was a practiced dance of theirs, and it left Scrooge chuckling as he looked down to greet his nieces.  

There was little Della, though not so little anymore. She looked much like Scrooge remembered her, beaming up at him and holding tightly to the straps of her backpack.

Donny, on the other hand, he might’ve confused for a stranger under other circumstances. Growing up, the twins had always been dressed similarly, but now Donny’s hair was cut short, with the exception of long bangs. And where Della wore a blouse and shorts, Donny was in a overly large flannel shirt and combat boots. 

Also unlike Della, Donny didn’t look excited to see Scrooge, nor did they look at him  _ at all  _ for that matter, standing with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. 

But Scrooge shook off his surprise, and welcomed them with open arms. “Och jings, look how you’ve grown!”

Della was the only one who rushed to hug him, talking excitedly all the while. “Oh man, we missed you, Uncle Scrooge! Were you really in Pandemonia or was Da just making up stories?”

Scrooge kneeled so as to better embrace his niece. “You should know by now that there’s hardly a story about me that isn’t true, lass!”

“Unfortunately,” Hortense muttered under her breath. 

It was becoming increasingly clear that Donny wasn’t going to join them. Obviously aware of this, Hortense cleared her throat sharply. “What do we say to our Uncle Scrooge?” 

“Hi, Unca’ Scrooge,” Donny said with little enthusiasm. “Thanks for having us over.” 

The Donny that Scrooge remembered was just as bombastic as Della, just as daring, just as keen to hear of his exploits. Neither of their personalities were ones to be contained or snuffed out. But this Donny was...small, reticent and guarded. The picture of someone who’d rather be invisible, or anywhere else.

And just like that, Scrooge’s grand plans were thrown out the window. 

  
  


He’d intended on taking the twins to scale Krakatoa for the day’s outing. Now, they would be Bigfoot-trapping in the woods instead. 

For once, he didn’t think that death defying adventure was what the situation called for.

Laying Bigfoot traps was something Scrooge had done with Donny and Della nearly since they were old enough to walk. It was easy, but integral adventuring know-how that he’d been determined to pass on to his kin. Little more than knot tying and basic maths, it was something the twins enjoyed as young ducklings. 

Hortense had once complained of them using the techniques he’d taught them to try and catch Santa Claus, which only proved to him that he’d made the right choice. 

“Now, do you two remember what Bigfoot trapping entails?” Scrooge quizzed Donny and Della as he led them down Killmotor Hill. He had rope coiled over both shoulders, as did the twins, and they had a camping knife each. 

Donny’s response was to scoff and roll their eyes. “Duh. We’re not  _ five.” _

Della spared her twin a concerned glance before readily answering, “Nets and rope traps only, Uncle Scrooge.” 

“Because a pit trap…” Scrooge began. 

“Is no trap at all if your quarry can climb out of it,” they recited, Della with significantly more zeal than her twin. 

“Right-o!” Scrooge announced. 

They finally reached the forest’s edge, and Scrooge paused. “Alright, kids. You’ve got your radios, be sure not to wander too far,  I dinnae want to be sending out the search parties,” he chuckled, “We only need to secure the perimeter, after all.”

He pointed to the left. “Della, why don’t you start on the west side. Donny, why don’t stick with me and—”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine on my own,” Donny interrupted, and dashed off between the trees before Scrooge could get a word in edgewise. 

Della looked worried again, frowning in the direction her twin had vanished. 

Scrooge smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “Better set your watch now, lass. Remember, we’ll be meeting back here again just before supper time.”

 

Rather than set traps himself, Scrooge wandered aimlessly through the woods in a manner that certainly made him vulnerable to a Bigfoot attack if one chose that moment to ambush him. 

It was a little embarrassing to admit, even to himself, how disheartening he had found Donny’s rapid-fire dismissal. He was the adult, after all, and if his Bigfoot-trapping plan didn’t pan out, he could simply broach the subject when they were back in the mansion. If his nerves didn’t fail him before that. 

As much as Scrooge wanted to connect with his family, he had to constantly fight the instinct to keep them at arm's length and protect himself, as he’d been forced to do throughout the long decades it had taken him to amass his fortune. His family weren't cutthroat claim jumpers or skeevy pirates, or anyone else that might want to take advantage of him for his wealth. Those dangers would always stay with him. 

He had no such guarantee that his family would do the same.

A low  _ thud _ pulled him from his spiraling reverie, closely followed by garbled shouts and swearing that the owner tried and failed to muffle. 

Well. Perhaps he and Donny would have that talk after all. 

 

He found Donny in a nearby clearing, shaking out a hand and hissing in pain. 

“What have you done now?” Scrooge sighed, stepping out of the treeline.

They immediately stiffened at the sound of his voice, looking up with eyes blown wide with momentary terror.

The sight made a stone of guilt fall to the pit of Scrooge’s stomach. This was swiftly followed by shock when he saw the blood and bruises on Donny’s right knuckles. 

“What did you do, punch a tree?” Scrooge demanded as he marched over. 

“Uh...” Donny said, and didn’t continue. 

Scrooge took Donny’s hand very carefully in his own, and looked it over critically. “Honestly, of all the  _ foolhardy— _ wiggle your fingers. I need to make sure nothing’s broken.”

Donny did so, wincing all the while.

After a moment, Scrooge determined that it looked worse than it actually was. 

“You’re in luck. You’ll have some ugly bruises that I’ll have to explain to your mother, but no broken fingers. Now,” Scrooge met Donny with a hard stare, “Do our mind telling me what has your dander up enough to make you punch  _ trees?” _

“I didn’t punch a tree!” Donny snapped. 

“You definitely punched  _ something.” _ Scrooge held up has own fist to demonstrate. “I’ve had my fair share of bruises like yours, though more often than not I’d get them from punching people.”

“It’s nothing,” Donny muttered, cradling their bruised hand close to their chest.

Scrooge shook his head with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well we’d better get ahold of your sister and head back to the mansion.”

Donny’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? We’ve barely been out here half an hour.”

“You cannae lay  _ traps  _ with that hand,” Scrooge retorted, “we’ve got to get back so you can get some ice on it, before the swelling gets worse.”

“You’ve got a first aid kit, right?” Donny pointed at Scrooge’s pack. “Let’s just, I dunno, bandage it for now. I can watch you set the traps for a little bit, refresh my knot-tying memory.”

Scrooge didn’t understand Donny’s sudden insistence, especially after they reacted so noncommittally to the idea of Bigfoot-trapping in the first place. But their expression was earnest enough, and Scrooge was determined to get to the bottom of what made them so upset as to  _ punch trees.  _ The McDuck temper could be a formidable thing, but even that was a bit much. 

“Very well,” Scrooge acquiesced, pulling off his pack. He crouched on the dirt and pine needles, pulling out the first aid kit. He gestured Donny closer as he opened it one-handed. 

Donny hesitated before taking a seat beside him. They remained tense, shoulders hitched up and drawn tight by their ears. They extended their injured hand with a caution Scrooge thought uncharacteristic of them. 

But Scrooge took their hand gently, and got right to work clearing their knuckles of dirt and dried blood. Though he was methodical, Scrooge perhaps worked slower than was strictly necessary. It was almost pleasant, in fact, as the sounds of the forest rose up around them, nearly a living thing in of itself. Birds chirped from high up branches and small animals skittered by in the shadowed undergrowth. 

The tension gradually bled out of Donny’s frame, little by little, until the line of their shoulders relaxed and fell. 

Scrooge had begun to bandage their knuckles when they spoke again. “Hey, um, Unca’ Scrooge…” 

There was the hesitation again. If Scrooge could snuff it out through sheer will alone, he would. 

He didn’t look up, but he hummed to let Donny know he was listening. 

“You’ve been, like, all over the world, right?” they asked. 

Scrooge couldn’t help but chuckle, and he briefly stopped bandaging their hand lest he pull too tight. “Aye, I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

Donny laughed a little too, looking abashed. “R-right. Well, since you’ve been all over the place, and you’re like a  _ million  _ years old—”

“Watch it.”

“—you must’ve met all kinds of people right?” Donny continued without pause. There was a weight to their words that wasn’t there before, laced between every cautious sentence. 

Scrooge nodded, maintaining his casual exterior as he secured the last of the gauze around Donny’s wrist. “The number of strange and astonishing people I’ve met on my travels is beyond the counting. Gods and sorcerers, inventors, shamans and cowboys, to name a few.” He finally released Donny’s wrist. “There we go! How does that feel? Not too tight?”

Donny carefully flexed their fingers. “What about...people who are born boys, but are really girls? Or girls that are really boys? Did you know anyone like that?” 

Their expression was fierce, conviction blazing in their gaze as they looked up at Scrooge. Gone was their earlier uncertainty, their fear; burned away by the fore of their determination. 

Scrooge didn’t think he’d ever been prouder of anyone in his life. 

He smiled, and turned to pack away the first aid kit. “Of course I’ve met people like that,” he replied easily, “myself included.” 

He almost wanted to laugh at the gobsmacked look on Donny’s face. But then it folded into something vulnerable, their youth shining though their bravado and daring. 

“You’re like me?” Donny asked, their voice trembling. 

Scrooge gentled his smile, reaching out to squeeze Donny’s shoulder. “It would seem so,” he said. “And on that note, may ask if I have a niece, nephew, or neither?”

Donny was positively beaming, shining brighter than the sun. “A nephew,” he said, smiling incredulously. 

“A  _ nephew,”  _ Scrooge repeated, feeling fit to burst with pride. But it was his turn to hesitate, to hem and haw, because he’d been gone from his niece and nephew’s lives for  _ so long.  _ Scrooge steeled himself, and slowly drew Donny into his arms, giving him ample opportunity to pull away, 

But Donny readily wrapped his arms around Scrooge’s torso, pressing his cheek against the buttons of Scrooge’s coat. 

A ball of emotion threatened to well up in Scrooge’s throat, making it difficult to speak for a moment. His arms hovered awkwardly over Donny’s shoulders for a moment, before settling, and then tightening around him. 

“That was very brave of you, lad,” Scrooge confided. Regret tasted of ashes on his tongue, and he swallowed them down. “I’m sorry that I’m away so often. I know it’s not fair to you or your sister. If...if you ever have any questions—”

Donny pulled back, fixing Scrooge with an incredulous expression. “Unca’ Scrooge, I’ve got a  _ thousand  _ questions! Like, you’re from olden times, what did you  _ do, _ how did you  _ know—” _

Scrooge raised his hands placatingly, his smile edged with surprise. “Whoa there, Donny, lad! I’ll answer all the questions you have, but let’s get out of these bloody woods first.

“Oh, right,” Donny laughed. 

 

“Della’s the only other person I’ve told,” Donny admitted on the way back to the mansion. “She said that you’d probably be the best person to ask about this stuff since you’re ‘well-traveled,’ whatever that means.” His expression went starry, admiring in a way that left Scrooge feeling a little discomfited. “But I never thought you’d be like  _ me.” _

It was a powerful thing, for a child to look up at you like you’d hung the stars. It simultaneously filled Scrooge with dread, and a burgeoning dedication to never disappoint him. 

Scrooge smiled, nudging Donny with his elbow. “It’s nice knowing you’re not alone, aye?” 

It seemed Donny would never stop smiling. He looked away, kicking at a rock in his path. “I know you said to hold onto my questions, but...when did you know? That you were...you.”

Scrooge hummed for a moment, adjusting the coil of rope he had slung over his shoulder. “When I was around your age, I reckon. My parents, bless them, were right confused, but accepted who I was. They made a bigger fuss for my birthday than they had any other year, on account of me having my new name and all. That’s the year my Da gave me my shoe shine kit.”

“That earned you your Number One Dime, _ I know,” _ Donny recited longsufferingly. 

“Oi!” Scrooge barked, trying not to laugh. 

“But wait,” Donny said, his steps faltering. “If Gran and Granpa know, then my mom, she…”

Scrooge nodded, snorting lightly. “Aye, of course your mum knows. She’s the one that got stuck with all my old dresses, after all.”

“Huh,” Donny muttered, tugging at the bandages around his hand. 

“I promise you, you won’t have any trouble on that front,” Scrooge assured him. He looked down to where Donny was still fiddling with his bandages. “How’s that hand holding up?”

“Hurts a bit.” 

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “That’s what happens when you go around punching trees. Do I even want to know why you thought that would be a good idea in the first place?”

“It’s not like I planned for it to happen!” he retorted. “I was just…” Donny mumbled the rest. 

“What was that?”

“I was mad at myself for chickening out,” Donny muttered. “I wanted to talk to you before we left the mansion, but I kept putting it off, and then we were in the _ woods.” _

“So you punched a tree?” Scrooge asked dryly. 

“Hey, in my defense, I didn’t think it would hurt that much!”

“What sort of defense is that?” Scrooge sputtered. 

“There you guys are!”

Della emerged from the undergrowth breathless and smiling, with leaves and sticks in her hair. She took in the unused rope Scrooge was still toting around and Donny’s bandaged hand with a quizzical expression. 

“It was getting late, so I figured I should start heading back. What’ve you guys been up to?”

“I was just telling your brother that your mother is going to dig me a shallow grave when she sees the state of his hand,” Scrooge declared despairingly, like he had the Sword of Duckocles itself poised over his head. 

Della’s eyes widened, and she looked between Donny and Scrooge with a small, disbelieving grin. She rushed at her brother, sweeping him into a hug that actually took him off the ground for a moment. “Aw, Donny!”

“Careful! Watch the hand!” he complained from the vice that was his sister’s embrace. Donny looked back at Scrooge over his sister’s shoulder, his expression singularly happy. 

Scrooge felt something settle inside him, some ephemeral fragment of worry breaking off and floating away. They were here with him now. And he wasn’t going to waste any more time. 

“‘Cmon, kids, let’s head back. The last thing I need is the two of you catching a chill.” 


End file.
